


What's a Prince to a King?

by lovelyrhink (crimsonwinter)



Category: Rhett & Link, Rhett and Link
Genre: M/M, Swordfighting, Threat of War, middle ages AU, rhink, royal au, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:14:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24648550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonwinter/pseuds/lovelyrhink
Summary: Fifteen years after the Decade War, a dark kingdom known for sending boys to their deaths returns to conquer Rosewood. Rosewood’s king has been anxiously awaiting this return and can no longer refuse the allyship of the neighboring kingdom. What he doesn’t know is that the young prince of Charleston is beloved for his values of peace and brotherhood, as well as his gorgeous blue eyes. Can the blue-eyed prince convince the young king to forgo his rivalry, and will their kingdoms unite to conquer the dark kingdom once and for all?
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Comments: 24
Kudos: 40





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta @sass-and-panache for encouraging this fic!!  
>   
> All references to other fantasy realms are complimentary :)

Centuries ago, on a large piece of land known as the Continent, there stood five kingdoms. Four of these kingdoms reigned peacefully for lifetimes, but when a wanderer settled the swamplands in the Southeast, he claimed the fifth adjacent to four flourishing kingdoms. The five kingdoms on the Continent came to be known as:

Daughtry, in the Northeast. Founded by hunters and trappers, the men of this kingdom sought not to militarize, and the women became farmers, tilling crops and cotton for trade. Known for their textiles and lush furs, the people of Daughtry are well-fed, warm, and plump, and their king is content without a large army.

Lancaster, the kingdom of the East. This land is rich with soil, and the damp earth of the Eastern coast yields robust medicinal herbs. The king of Lancaster believes in morality for all, and while his land is broken by bays and peninsulas, his army trains inland, storing energy for battles they hope not to fight.

Faust is the Southeastern settlement that resents its swampy lands and weak soil. Insecure with land he chose to settle on, the first Faust king claimed an independent title: House of Faust, which the other four kingdoms think is a very stupid name. As this poor settlement grew into a small, unhappy kingdom, envy brewed, causing the quick-tempered tension of this story.

The Charleston kingdom is the second-largest settlement, taking the beaches of the Southwestern corner. Settled by kings of this name, Charleston provides the Continent with fish and glassware made from its fine white sands. This beach kingdom raises strong sons and loving daughters, and its royal bloodline birthed one of our two heroes.

Rosewood is the most powerful kingdom on the Continent. It shares its Western border with Charleston, claiming the Northwestern redwoods. Founded in a deep forest at the base of mountains full of gold, rivers flow fresh from mountain springs. Rosewood is rich in more ways than one. The large kingdom is plentiful with gold, gems, and oil, and exports wood and stone to the other kingdoms. Rosewood has the capacity to dominate the Continent with its grand military, but has never sought enemies, only allies. This is the kingdom that Faust envies. This is the kingdom that birthed the other hero, the young king, and Rosewood is where our story begins.

In 1510, King Edmund Faust made preparations to conquer Rosewood. Why he felt he would succeed is beyond reality, but he attacked all the same. House of Faust raged war on Rosewood by ignoring Daughtry, Lancaster, and Charleston, making a beeline for the Northwest with an army of hungry men. Rosewood was ambushed in what came to be known as the Decade War, and upon ambush, King James of Rosewood called for protection of his people. Faust soldiers took no prisoners as they moved through the kingdom and towards the castle, but were steered towards the battlefield at the edge of the woods by a legion of Rosewood men. As soldiers shed blood on Rosewood earth, two Faust spies completed their missions, infiltrating the strongholds of Rosewood and Charleston.

King Edmund was devious, and without the presence of Rosewood allies, he sought to weaken the bond between the two strongest kingdoms. While one spy whispered to King James that Charleston aided Faust in ambush, another convinced King Charles that Rosewood had plans for Faust-aided domination. This sabotage sliced a wound between two kingdoms that had once been the best of allies.

Battle raged from sun to moon, shedding blood on both sides. A generation of men was lost to the Decade War, including the White Knight himself, Prince Cole, the eldest son of Rosewood. As midnight neared, King Edmund moved through the melee and slaughtered King James in the moonlight. Grieving their King and their Prince, the last of the Rosewood army took revenge on King Edmund, annihilating every Faust soldier.

Rosewood successfully ended the Decade War mere hours after ambush, but the loss of their King and Prince haunted the once-proud kingdom. When word was sent back to the Southeastern kingdom, the reigning son of Faust sparked, determined to avenge his father. The Queen held him back, but not forever.

Carlisle Faust, son of Edmund, swore to return to Rosewood one day. He urged his grieving women to raise their sons, to make more babies for a future generation of soldiers. Those who did not die of swamp water poisoning accepted their fate as soldiers or widows, and House of Faust earned itself a new title - House of Death.

After the war of 1510, Rosewood was without a king and a prince, but not an heir. The youngest son of Rosewood was crowned the new king at age twelve, mere moons after the death of his father and brother, and Queen Diane watched as the court turned her bright-eyed baby into an anxious, unprepared child king. This child of Rosewood grieved lost men for fifteen years, simmering with hatred for Faust, and dreading the dawn of the second war.

The story you read now begins in 1525, in the Autumn the Rosewood king turns twenty-seven. Daughtry and Lancaster remain fierce allies, but the king demands the sabotage of the Charleston alliance be remembered, believing the whispers of doubt ushered by the court and the ghost of his father. The Decade War is Rosewood’s greatest loss, and though the young king does not want to send the boys and men of his kingdom to slaughter, he fears an impending war.

Throughout the years, King Rhett of Rosewood receives notice that King Carlisle makes attempts on Daughtry, Lancaster, and Charleston, but he does not militarize. He sends as many resources needed to two of the kingdoms, but his stubborn, grieving heart refuses to forgive Charleston for a sabotage the kingdom did not commit.

King Rhett does not fear the history of his kingdom - he grieves it, fearing the future. That is why his stomach explodes in anxious butterflies when his messenger announces that Charleston seeks armistice, and that the young prince, Charles Lincoln III, will come to Rosewood in a matter of days.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the carriage comes upon the kingdom town, Prince Charles feels an arrival of strange energy.

Rhett paces before the stone table. The ten members of his court watch him fret, sitting with their hands clasped on the cool stone. They have raised an anxious king, but upon receiving the message from Charleston, the court remains calm as Rhett explodes in frantic movements, crease in his brow.

“Why is he coming?” he asks the floor. “Does the Prince know something? Has Faust moved through Charleston? Are they coming for Rosewood?”

“Be at ease, my King,” his first official says. “Charleston has not fallen, nor Daughtry, nor Lancaster. Last we heard, Faust remains in the South.”

“But Faust is coming, are they not?” The king pauses, looking at the pallid, wrinkled faces before him. “Carlisle is sworn for revenge.”

Another member of the court speaks, a deep, rumbling voice. “Carlisle has sworn revenge for a decade. None of the three kingdoms have given Faust aid in the last fifteen years, and when Faust attacked Lancaster five years ago, the King retreated immediately. Faust is not strong enough, my King.”

Rhett sets his hands on the stone, staring into dark brown eyes. “Strength has little to do with it. Who’s to say Charleston isn’t sabotaging us again? Perhaps, if the Prince comes, Rosewood will fall the same day.”

“Prince Charles is not a man of devious means. He seeks parley.”

“Parley?!” Rhett shouts, blood rising. “Charleston allowed Faust to move freely towards Rosewood. If King Charles had stopped them before they crossed the river, my father would be alive.” He swallows. “As would the White Knight.”

“Yes,” a voice answers. “But the Prince is already coming. We will check him and his men at the Western border and confiscate their weapons. Charleston will not attack Rosewood, the messenger made sure of that.”

“The messenger is a spy. Everyone is a spy.”

The ten men around the table hold an invisible breath. They are patient with the King’s fear - an anxiety they have created within him.

“There are no Faust spies here,” the oldest and most trusted member of the court states. “But perhaps be wary of the Prince. Charleston may seek revenge.”

“Hear Prince Charles out, my King,” another member counters. “If there is news of Faust coming for Rosewood, perhaps it is time to ally with Charleston once again. Faust is red with hatred, and this rivalry is tired. Do not underestimate the power of a friend.”

King Rhett turns his back on his men, quickly tiring of this conversation. He resents Charleston, but he fears the fall of his kingdom more. “Check him and his men at the border,” he echoes. “I want him alone when he pleads for my forgiveness.”

* * *

Prince Charles does not arrive in Rosewood alone. After days of travel, sand turns to earth, earth turns to forest, and just before crossing the Western river, the Prince’s carriage is stopped by Rosewood steeds, gilded guards atop them. The Prince puts his hand out the carriage window, signaling his presence.

“Order from the King to check your men,” the man on the red steed says.

“Proceed,” answers Prince Charles. The carriage shifts as his driver steps down, and the four soldiers walking beside the carriage allow the Rosewood men to unbelt and confiscate their swords. The lone Prince of Charleston watches with quiet eyes as his men put their arms out, gloved hands roaming for hidden daggers or vials of poison. Charles has heard that the Rosewood king is anxious, feeding into a fifteen-year whisper that Charleston once betrayed Rosewood.

Though he has told no member of his court that he has done so, Prince Charles berated his father about the Decade War before being given permission to browse the kingdom records. History may not be what the Rosewood king believes, and the Prince is determined to convince him that he’s been lied to.

“Please step out of the carriage, Prince Charles.”

The Prince obeys, but has no weapon to confiscate. He feels strange carrying a sword. He is no soldier!

“Has the King of Rosewood been notified?” the Prince asks, unsure if his messenger was granted entry.

“Yes,” the man who arrived on the red steed answers. He looks at the Prince and waits, then says, “Are you a Faust ally?”

“No.”

“Have you had contact with King Carlisle?”

“No.”

“Do you know where Faust is now?”

“In the House.”

“Has Carlisle made attempts on Charleston?”

“Yes, a few weeks ago. My men held him off at the Southern border. He is foolish to keep bringing men to battles he cannot win. King Carlisle retreated, and Lancaster has sent word that Faust is withholding his strongest men. He arrived at the Charleston border with young boys in ill-fitting armor.”

“Did you kill those boys?”

“No. My men wounded and looted them. Faust retreated in shame.”

“How can my King be sure you will not sabotage him?”

The Prince waits, tired of being questioned. He has no ill-will towards Rosewood, albeit, he fears the stubborn King will not accept his parley. The Prince pulls a small scroll from his belt and hands it to the soldier as he says, “I have permission from my father, King Charles, to request a renewal of alliance. This note is signed in his blood. If my men harm a single strand of Rosewood hair, my father will offer his head. I trust my men, and my father. He tires of this rivalry, as do I.”

The Rosewood guard peers at the smudge of blood. “ _Charleston requests a parley, by word of King Charles. Charleston is not an enemy_ ,” he reads. The guard gestures for the Charleston men to return to the carriage.

“Fifteen years,” says Prince Charles. “My kingdom is not in the market for another war."

* * *

It takes two days to pass through the woods. The men cross the river by its bridge and camp deep in the woods, protecting their sleeping Prince through the night. When the carriage comes upon the kingdom town, Prince Charles feels an arrival of strange energy. He has never seen Rosewood, naturally, and the kingdom is lit from the ground up with many torches, burning excess oil that his people long for. Lancaster oil travels far, and his kingdom yearns for the return of Rosewood goods.

The crowd parts when the carriage rolls through town. The Prince looks into the eyes of the people that admire his carriage, which startles them. Perhaps they are not used to a royal that spends time in the square? The Prince’s belly twists as they near the castle, eyeing the supreme maroon draperies emblazoned with a golden rose. The carriage stops just outside the castle gates, and the Prince’s admiration carries him all the way up the stone staircase, two men at his heels.

When Rosewood guards open the magnificent doors of the castle, the sweet scent of redwood and sun-warmed mahogany awash the Prince. His unarmed men move quickly through the doors, and once locked inside, they urge the Prince to walk, but his eyes are overwhelmed by tones of red and gold.

The castle is made of stone, as are the stairwells, but gorgeous wooden columns hold the high ceiling. Daughtry-made fabrics drape the walls, depicting a threaded scene of the Decade War, complete with Rosewood victory. Stained glass windows from the time before the rivalry gleam colorful in the sunlight, casting rainbow patterns on lush bear furs, no doubt from Daughtry as well. The castle interior is grandiose, but not gaudy, and the Prince’s wide eyes note only a few gemstones embedded in golden chandeliers, an elegant simplicity.

The Prince lets his men guide him through the hallways and towards the throne room, whispering that he must be respectful and keep his eyes down. The Prince disobeys, drinking in the tall, square archways so unlike the rounded arches of the Charleston castle. The Southwestern castle was built with Rosewood stone, but their arches are round, and their windows clear glass, with blue tapestries and iridescent spiral shells embellishing the stone, an ode to the ocean. This castle resembles the Northwestern mountains and is just as grand, with ceilings as high as redwoods.

Two Rosewood guards open the doors of the throne room, and the young prince straightens up. One of his men had suggested introducing himself as Prince Charles in order to assess the King in secret, but Link denied him, stating that he wants King Rhett to meet him as one man to another. A Rosewood guard introduces him:

“Now presenting, son of King Charles, heir to the Charleston crown, Prince Charles Lincoln III.”

The tall man standing before the Rosewood throne turns, and Link finds a bearded face staring back at him. What he doesn’t know is that the King’s breath catches at the first sight of blue.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Charles came to Rosewood prepared to dislike the King.

The bard’s song spread word of the tall child king, but the melody doesn’t do the man justice.

He beckons Prince Charles forward with a big hand, and as the blue-eyed prince comes closer, the stained glass windows of the throne room cast colors in the King’s beard.

The King of Rosewood is very tall and very handsome. His amber beard is trimmed neatly on his neck and the strands are glossy with oil; his dark angular brows knit in observation as Prince Charles comes to stand before him. He casts his eyes down on the Prince, and Charles bows his head, unsure if the King’s eyes are more like the green of Rosewood trees or the stormy blue of the Charleston sea.

The two Charleston men kneel beside the Prince, and Charles takes a knee, eyes down. He feels the tall king studying him. The throne room is silent for a moment before a deep, powerful voice echoes through the chamber.

“Rise,” says the King.

Prince Charles stands, meeting stormy eyes.

“Fifteen years. Why have you come?”

“Parley. King Carlisle is coming for Rosewood. Charleston and Rosewood should ally forces once again.”

King Rhett squints at the man before him. Behind him, his throne remains empty, as if the King refuses to sit. Strange, the Prince thinks.

The bearded king studies Prince Charles as if dubious. The Prince holds the stare, a tightness in his jaw, and momentarily forgets the other men in the room, watching him. He knows the King of Rosewood won’t be easily convinced, but he’s willing to do whatever it takes to regain Rosewood as an ally. He’ll do a little jig if he has to.

“The court hears your plea of parley,” says King Rhett. “But the King is not convinced. Leave your men, and join me in the courtyard.”

The Prince nods curtly, and two Rosewood men come to check him, and again, find nothing of ill-intention on his person. The two Charleston men stay back as the King steps down from the platform and crosses the throne room in long-legged strides, ignoring Prince Charles as he goes. Two guards open the doors to the hallways, and the Prince follows the King to the courtyard.

* * *

The King of Rosewood is silent as they walk through the castle. He is tall and slender, and Prince Charles finds himself eyeing the glint of his golden crown as he trails behind. Something at the back of his mind tells him that this is irregular, and that with any other king, he would have remained on his knees in the throne room. Already, this king is strange, but the Prince does not resist. He runs lines in his head as they walk, preparing the words he’ll say to persuade.

Two Rosewood guards open the doors to the courtyard, and King Rhett and Prince Charles step into sunlight. The courtyard is grand and gorgeous, with large rose bushes and smooth marble benches. Stained glass windows catch the noonday sun, and a gardener in red wanders between bushes. Rosewood guards stand poised around the large, circular space. Prince Charles finds himself checking to see if they’re watching him, which they are. Watching his every move, as if he’ll suddenly attack.

King Rhett walks to a rosebush and gently bounces a blossom with his fingertips. Prince Charles feels his heartbeat quicken as he studies the King’s long fingers, wondering if the hand has ever sent someone to their death. The King catches him looking and breaks the silence.

“You think it’s strange I brought you out here.”

“No, your highness.”

“A matter of high importance, your parley, must be considered delicately. Do you agree?”

“Yes, your highness.”

The King looks at the Prince from their few feet of distance, and Prince Charles feels small. He breathes strength into his chest and puffs up a bit, sure of why he’s come, but unsure if he’s only imagining the flick of the King’s eyes. The gardener moves onto another bush, snipping the overgrown greenery. It’s quiet in the courtyard, save some trilling birdcalls and the snip of the gardener’s shears.

“I feel safe in the courtyard,” the King states. “I’d rather be by the roses to discuss why you’ve come.”

Prince Charles thinks this confession interesting, but says nothing. He waits for a sign to speak.

“Tell me, Prince of Charleston, why are you convinced King Carlisle is coming for Rosewood?”

“Your highness. I was under the impression you already knew of Carlisle’s plans. Surely you know he’s made attempts at every kingdom border. Most recently, Charleston. He’s impatient, and I believe it’s wise to prepare for attack in the coming weeks.”

“How can Rosewood trust that Charleston is not a Faust ally? How can you, Prince, assure me of that?”

Prince Charles answers honestly, “Charleston has always been an ally. I can assure you that Charleston had no intentions to betray Rosewood in the Decade War. I searched the records myself.”

“Did you? Tell me what the records show.”

“Our fathers were good friends, your highness. King Charles and King James were in frequent contact before the war, and old letters reveal a true friendship. I found nothing that implied a Rosewood domination or Charleston betrayal.” The Prince watches the King pinch a petal between his thumb and forefinger. “If I may be so bold, I believe the alliance was poisoned - a Faust spy.”

The King keeps his eyes on the roses as he speaks, but the Prince’s words seem to intrigue, and he glances at the Prince as if he wants Charles to continue.

“My father and your father often gossiped about the other kingdoms, but only in jest, as if brothers. There was no ill-will on either side, towards any of the five kingdoms. Records show an equal trade of glass and stone, and often our fathers detailed how they envisioned their kingdoms.” The Prince gestures at the courtyard windows, some tinged blue and others red. “Even now, I can see Charleston inspiration in your castle, and Rosewood influence in mine. My father is not a cruel man, and going by his letters, I do not believe King James was either.”

“And the spy?”

“Fifteen years ago, Faust attacked Rosewood by ambush. My father was not aware of the path King Edmund took through No Man’s Land. If he was, he would’ve stopped him. You must understand, good king of Rosewood, that when a king receives a whisper of darkness, he must believe its truth, lest his kingdom fall. I cannot lie, my father believed the whisper. As did King James, in the heat of battle. My father was confused by that whisper, the source of which we cannot trace, yet he failed Rosewood.”

The King moves down the courtyard, towards a stone statue of a mother and child. He’s tall enough to rest his elbow on the mother’s shoulder.

“Charleston failed Rosewood,” the Prince repeats. He knows to say what the King wants to hear, so he keeps his voice level and his eyes trained on the King’s face. “And we are in deep remorse. Please, understand the miscommunication. My father did not act out against Rosewood, nor did he act in protection of Rosewood. I am deeply sorry for the pain my kingdom’s lack of action has caused your family and your kingdom.”

King Rhett waits, pursing his lips as if considering the words. Snip snip, goes the garden shears, then, “My father and brother were killed due to lack of action.”

“I know.”

“Your men could have stopped King Edmund at the border.”

“Yes, they could have. If they’d known Faust was coming.” Prince Charles catches the King’s eyes and holds steady. “Faust is coming. This time, let Charleston aid Rosewood. Neither my father, nor yours, could have predicted the first war. But we can be ready for the second. Please, ally with Charleston.”

“Miscommunication…” King Rhett ponders. “Many of my men died. My father, my brother. Do you understand my hesitance?”

“I do.”

“Do you understand why Rosewood cut trade with Charleston?”

“I do.”

“Do your people require Rosewood allyship?”

“Yes. Many of my citizens have family in Rosewood they haven’t seen in fifteen years. Lancaster and Daughtry cannot provide forever. My people desire Rosewood goods.” Again, the King purses his lips. Prince Charles adds, “I believe Rosewood will benefit from a Charleston allyship. Your soldiers need to feed on Charleston fish. Surely, Daughtry and Lancaster cannot satisfy your people with goods carried far across the Continent. A Rosewood-Charleston alliance is strength, health.”

King Rhett looks at the statue child, his blank stone eyes staring at the heavens.

Prince Charles came to Rosewood prepared to dislike the King. He came prepared to spend hours convincing the King to accept his parley, even if the conversation left him feeling frustrated and ignored. After so many years of silence, the Prince expects the King to shun him, shame him, and reject his extended hand. Instead, the King seems to retreat into a quiet uncertainty.

The rivalry between their kingdoms will not easily be resolved, the Prince thinks, but upon meeting the King, the persuasion feels less daunting. King Rhett _is_ the kingdom of Rosewood, the true monarch of the North, but standing before the Prince, he is merely a tall man with a golden crown, surrounded by roses. 

This man is not his court, nor his lands, or the health of his people. While his legacy regards him as stubborn and child-like, already, Prince Charles can see within the King a deep pain that the Continent is blind to. King Rhett is a powerful man who lost his youth to grief. The Prince remembers this as he gives the King space to think.

A breeze kisses at the men in the courtyard. It’s silent as Prince Charles waits for the King to acknowledge his presence, and when he finally raises his eyes, the Prince resumes his speech. He is a man of duty, after all, and he’s determined to persuade.

“Your highness, I have a plan. This time, we will be prepared.”

Again, the King moves. He goes to sit on a bench and beckons the Prince to sit with him. When Prince Charles joins him on the marbled stone, he senses many pairs of Rosewood eyes watching him. He keeps his hands in his lap and his knees pointed away from the King. This is the closest the Prince has been to the King, and at eye-level, he notes a tiredness in his eyes and a deep crease in his brow, as if he’s been frowning for a decade.

The King of Rosewood listens patiently as the Prince speaks, but there’s some resistance in his demeanor when Link mentions his plan. It’s as if the King has been avoiding the truth of the matter - that Faust is coming, and soon. Prince Charles feels anxious that he’ll disregard his ideas, and at best, prefer the word of a General.

“Charleston failed to act in the Decade War,” he says. “But perhaps a plan is wise.”

“Faust has been under close surveillance for fifteen years,” the Prince begins. “King Carlisle knows ambushing Rosewood is not an option. He knows Charleston will come to parley, as I am now, and he knows Charleston will attempt to redeem failed action. He expects Charleston to cut him off in No Man’s Land.”

King Rhett listens, focusing his eyes on the Prince, but dubious, as if torn on the matter.

“I have discussed action with my father and the court. Carlisle will not be satisfied until he reaches Rosewood. I say let him come. We will defeat him on Rosewood soil and end his revenge once and for all.” Prince Charles shakes his head. “Carlisle is a mad king.” 

A slight smile, more human than the Prince has yet seen. “On that, we can agree.”

“Please,” says the Prince for the last time. “Let’s work together to outsmart the mad king. Redeem the friendship of our fathers.”

King Rhett’s tired eyes scan the courtyard, watching shadows move behind stained glass, then return to the Prince. He sighs, and again, Prince Charles thinks the man a touch broken. Perhaps the King tires of rivalry, perhaps he’s ready to ally. “I’m not yet convinced,” states the King. “Prove to me the strength of Charleston men.”

“Of course, your highness. However I can.”

The King’s eyes go sharp, his demeanor changing instantaneously. “Can you wield a sword, Prince?”

Prince Charles feels a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “I prefer not to carry a weapon, but yes, I am trained.”

King Rhett leaps up, shadowing Prince Charles with his height. “Guards! Give this man a sword and ready the training grounds. We’re going to duel.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more time the Prince spends with the King, the more he wants to know about the man beneath the crown.

The training grounds, unlike the cobblestone courtyard, are dusty and lined with bales of hay. Men made of straw stand proud despite their wounds, and one far wall is lined with swords, while another provides shields, bows and quivers full of arrows on the third. A few tired-out trainees sit on hay bales, sweat on their brows when the King and Prince arrive.

Prince Charles is offered a chalice of water, a plate of grapes and dried meat, and a Rosewood sword and shield. The King of Rosewood nibbles on bread and cheese before removing his crown and offering it to a maiden, who looks all-too-pleased to have it on her pillow. She scurries away, leaving only men on the grounds.

Once the King and Prince have eaten, King Rhett pushes up the sleeves of his tunic, revealing tanned forearms. Prince Charles thinks he must train often to have this olive skin. He does the same, feeling slightly scrawny but determined to prove his strength, and the strength of his kingdom.

King Rhett walks forward, black leather boots curling dust at his heels. “Prince of Charleston,” he calls, and his voice is lighter than it was in the courtyard, more playful.

“King of Rosewood,” the Prince replies.

“The outcome of this friendly duel will not determine the fate of our alliance, but I’d like to see a valiant effort. Convince me that King Charles raised a strong son, and I’ll be more willing to believe he raised a strong army as well.”

Prince Charles licks his lips. There’s a haughty swagger in the King’s hips as he comes close, his eyes smart like he’s already decided the Prince’s fate. The Prince holds out his shield in his left hand and wields the sword with his right. The King comments on this.

“A right-handed man? Surely, I would’ve thought you fight with the Devil’s hand.”

“What makes you say such a thing?”

“Must be something in your eyes.”

The men smirk at each other, blossoming fondness.

A Rosewood soldier approaches, detailing to the men watching that this is a friendly duel, their swords dulled for practice. “No harm will come to the Rosewood King,” he states, then mutters, “nor the Prince…”

King Rhett raises his sword, and Prince Charles mirrors it. The dull metal blades touch, glinting in the sun, and the Rosewood guard backs away, shouting to start. King Rhett slices first, which the Prince blocks immediately. The clang of his shield rings out through the grounds, and the Prince slips into a focused headspace. He swipes at the King low, meaning to catch air, and the King plays the same game, narrowly missing the Prince on purpose. They quickly fall into a dance, using their shields in spare moments of defense, mostly backing away and turning up coils of dust in their scuffle.

After a number of blocks, the Prince begins to sweat. He catches the King’s eyes over their blades and finds a twisted pleasure in his face, a fire that he hadn’t seen in the courtyard. As they fight, the Prince notes that the King is a powerful offender, but slightly slow on defense. The Prince adjusts his movements, and the King notices.

“Don’t hold out on me, Prince Charles. Prove your strength.”

“I am strong,” the Prince answers, swinging his blade. “My men are well-trained. More skilled than I.”

The men scuffle a bit more, moving over the grounds. The King of Rosewood leaps onto a hay bale, but the prince goads him back down by swiping playfully at his legs. Neither of the men are wearing armor, which Prince Charles disagrees with, but has no choice but to play the King’s game. Like this, the Prince can see the King sweat, pant, and snarl, the ties of his red tunic coming loose, flashing a bit of golden chest hair that Charles tries to ignore.

The Prince is tiring, but keeps up the defense, growing bolder the longer they duel. The men on the grounds shout and cheer, offering words of encouragement to their king. “Hit him with the shield!” they shout. “Go for the apple in his neck!”

It’s playful yet intense. The King’s curls come loose without his crown and fall over his brow, and the Prince feels his own bangs stick to his forehead. The King goads with his eyes, his beardy mouth, and his quick feet, and with a swell of energy, the Prince has him on defense, nearly tripping.

“Ohohoho!” the King laughs. “He’s got power after all!”

Another swipe, narrowly missing the King’s stomach. “Do not doubt the strength of the Charleston Prince!”

“No doubts, your Princeliness,” the King chides. He’s panting, and calls the words loudly over the clang of metal. “I’m impressed.”

When the King tires, he shoves at the Prince with his shield, knocking him to the ground. The Prince laughs as the King stands over him, looking down with dark, feral eyes. A few droplets of sweat escape the King’s forehead, which the Prince feels oddly blessed to receive. The men regard each other, and for a moment, with the King standing between the Prince’s legs, Prince Charles forgets they’re not alone. They breathe heavily in tandem, and the Prince feels two aches in his chest.

King Rhett drops his weapon and his shield and reaches out his hand. The Prince takes it and is hoisted to his feet, looking up into the bright eyes of the tall king, close enough to see the freckles on the bridge of his handsome nose. The King laughs, smacking the Prince on the shoulder. Bold, the Prince smacks back.

The Rosewood guards startle when he does this, but the King holds up a hand. “At ease, my men. The Prince has proven himself brave.”

Prince Charles wipes at the sweat on his brow, panting and hot in his skin. “Have I convinced you?” he asks.

The bearded king beams an honest grin. “You have.” He waves a hand for his men to collect the metal. “Now, let’s cleanse ourselves of this rivalry.” Prince Charles smiles, and the King teases, “You stink of defeat.”

* * *

The King of Rosewood graciously offers the Prince the chance to bathe, and once the Prince’s men bring him a set of fresh clothes from the carriage, he returns to the King for more discussion. The Prince is alarmed at the King’s quick turnaround, forgiving a rivalry he’d upheld for over a decade, but doesn’t press the matter. He’s won.

The King has bathed as well, and his fresh tunic is dark, complementing the golden tones of his skin. His crown has returned to his head, and he smiles just as rich when the Prince approaches.

Prince Charles meets the King in the courtyard, and they stroll together as the evening darkens. The King asks the Prince to stay for supper, and the Prince readily agrees, his appetite sparking after the duel. As the cooks prepare the feast, the two men resume their conversation, more at ease, as if the duel released fifteen years of tension.

“What have you heard of me?” the King asks, sky darkening above the courtyard.

Amused, the Prince responds, “Rumors, tales from the bard. I’ve heard that you are smart, but stubborn like your father.”

King Rhett doesn’t seem to mind Charles mentioning his father, which relieves the Prince. He doesn’t want to upset the King, but he refuses to tip-toe around topics that may help strengthen their bond. He may have convinced the King to ally with Charleston, but the two royals know little about each other as men.

“Anything else?”

Prince Charles answers bravely. “I’ve heard that you’re cocky, which clearly doesn’t ring true at all.”

The King smirks. They stroll together in the courtyard in a slow walk, less hesitant in proximity now that they’ve dueled. Prince Charles feels intimidated by the King, but the more time they spend together, the more he wants to know about the man beneath the crown. King Rhett hums, touching a white rose.

“The roses give you comfort,” the Prince notes, perhaps overstepping, but too relaxed from the lavender bathwater to catch himself.

“The Queen loves roses. I feel close to her when I’m in the courtyard, especially when she’s away.”

“Where does she go?”

“She and the Queen of Daughtry are close friends. She often stays with her, sometimes, I think, to have a break from me.”

This is more vulnerable than the Prince expects, and he can sense that the honesty surprises the King as well. He brings the conversation back to their impressions of each other by asking, “What have you heard of me?”

“The Prince of Charleston…” King Rhett turns his eyes to the sky, which is going purple as dusk falls. “I’ve heard that you are beloved by your kingdom. That you often sit at the fountain in the square and play with children.”

Warmth blooms in the young prince’s chest. “Not a bad reputation. I do pride myself on being the people’s prince.”

It goes quiet between them as a cloud passes by what’s left of the sun. The Northern mountains cove them in, and the courtyard darkens without the air going cold. The King’s face softens in the low light, his angular features less intimidating as he sneaks shy glances at the Prince.

“I’ve heard you’re engaged to Princess Emilia,” the King adds, which catches the Prince by surprise. He’d completely forgotten about his betrothal.

“Oh. Yes, my father betrothed us before I came to Rosewood. Can I ask how you have this knowledge, when most of the Continent does not?”

“My mother had wanted Princess Emilia of Daughtry for my wife. She was disappointed when the Princess was already claimed.”

“Hm,” Prince Charles responds. He has little to no feelings about his betrothal, other than he wishes to be left alone. 

The King goes quiet again, and they pause at another statue, a large white steed without a rider. The King pets the horse’s stone coat, eyes glazing over. The sight makes the Prince curious about the King’s status. It’s surprising that such a handsome, powerful man is not yet married. He would’ve heard about an engagement.

“No disrespect, your highness. May I ask why you have no queen?”

The large hand stills on the steed. He splays it flat against the stone, and the Prince can see a silver ring on his index finger. “There have been many attempts at betrothals. Arrangements made behind my back, and women of the Rosewood court presented to me. I’ve had some courtships, and the women were eager to marry the King, but…” The King hesitates to speak, and the Prince resists the urge to encourage him. “It never felt right,” he confesses.

Prince Charles waits. The King leans back on the statue steed, closing his eyes. The man before the Prince now is different than the man in the throne room, more loose, more human. Perhaps it’s the twilight.

“It doesn’t feel right to take a queen when my brother’s betrothed mourns him as if widowed.”

The Prince of Charleston stays quiet in respect. He’s heard the tale of the White Knight but never once considered that Prince Cole had been engaged.

“What about an heir?”

“I’m sure before my 30th year, the court will trick me into producing an heir. Even if by courtesan.” He sighs. “But I am King. Nobody can force me to do anything.”

He opens his eyes, looking towards the mountains and the faint stars above.

“I am a king, and you are a prince,” the strange man says, as if making connections Prince Charles cannot trace.

Chatting with the King has proven more of a puzzle than the Prince expected. Something about the King is familiar, and Charles bites his tongue to resist reminiscing on all the years they could’ve spent as boyhood friends. “You were once a prince.”

“Yes,” the King says, eyes searching the stars in memory. He opens his mouth as if to say something else, then drops his gaze down to Prince Charles. His softness sharpens, playful edges up once again. “I’m surprised you held your own in our duel.”

“I am a prince, am I not?”

“Indeed, and a well-spoken one at that.” The King takes his weight off the statue just as a bell sounds. “Ah! Glory be the Rosewood feast. Come, Prince.”

King Rhett guides Prince Charles through the courtyard, now dark, statues glowing white under the twilight haze. They return to the hallway, which is warm and delicious with the scent of the feast. As they walk, the Prince finds himself thinking fondly of the King despite the man walking beside him.

Before they reach the banquet hall, the King says, “You intrigue me, Prince. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, your highness. I hope to honor our fathers.”

The King smiles at his new friend. “How long are you to stay in Rosewood, dear Prince Charles Lincoln III?”

“As long as it takes.” Two guards open the large doors to the hall. “And you can call me Link.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prince cannot picture the future war, nor does he want to, so he focuses on learning more about the King.

The King of Rosewood writes a letter to King Charleston the night the Prince arrives. Charles, now known fondly as Prince Link, attaches a message to his father detailing his success at regaining Rosewood as an ally. It is written, as is a second letter requesting the approval of a Rosewood ball to celebrate the alliance. The Prince conveniently leaves out the details of spilled ale when making this decision, drunk and happy after the first night’s feast.

The first night the Prince spends in Rosewood is pleasantly restful, sprawled on a large silken bed with a full belly and a dizzy smile on his face. In the morning, he sleeps past dawn and bathes in his private washroom, rinsing the smell of ale in favor of rosewater. The handmaidens of Rosewood castle set his luggage in the guest room shortly after his arrival, but this morning, the Prince finds himself wanting more than what he brought in his carriage.

After bathing, he dresses in his next best set of clothes, combs his inky hair, shaves his morning whiskers, and rubs some sweet-smelling oils on his face. Prince Link calls for the nearest maiden outside the bedroom doors, requesting clothing and other essentials for his prolonged stay. She takes his word to the kingdom tailor and merchants in the square. As she fulfills the request, he explores the castle.

Leaving his room in a slow gait, muscles eased by the morning’s bath, the King’s guest moseys down the hallway. Without the King beside him, the Prince is privy to taking his time, eyeing the gilded-framed portraits and deep red curtains along the walls. Portraits are sparse, but paintings plentiful, detailing redwood landscapes and large, blooming roses. Link finds himself stalling at a window, moving the curtains back to catch the morning’s sun on his face.

It’s a gorgeous castle, certainly, but as the Prince moves through it, he feels as if something is missing. The halls don’t feel haunted, but slightly forlorn, like the battle scars from years ago haven’t quite healed. There are many rooms, some housing looms and spinning wheels, others stocked with broomsticks. Link peeks in all of them, disregarding his better manners as he startles two handmaidens embracing in a linen closet. He goes on, blushing, as he passes a terrace strung with laundry, spotting one of his blue tunics swaying in the breeze.

The East Wing of the castle is nearly empty, and the haunting feeling returns as Link goes on, stilling his curious hands from opening anymore doors. The quiet morning grants him the luxury of memory, and the Prince finds his thoughts wandering backwards, towards the King of Rosewood. The emptiness of the castle makes him feel the same melancholy he felt watching the King in the courtyard, as if the joyous spirit of the kingdom fell away with their beloved King James and White Knight. There’s an aged youth in the castle, the Prince thinks, as if the King’s rush into maturity left the castle immature and wasted all at once. Prince Link imagines the King’s sad eyes as his feet carry him all the way to the end of the hall and back again, passing by his room and into the West Wing.

Here, the Prince moseys by the rose courtyard, late morning sun glinting in rose petal dewdrops. He imagines the King’s tall frame, his slender fingers touching the stone face of the statue child. The garden is too quiet without him, so the Prince moves on, down the hallway the King led him through. The throne room has grand double doors, fixed open for all to see within. The King is absent from this room as well, and the Prince wonders where he spends his time when not in meetings. Prince Link waves to the men guarding the empty throne, but they don’t respond.

While the Prince does not recognize the stony faces of the East Wing portraits, the faces before him are comprehensible. The Queen of Rosewood glows in her golden gown, patterned roses emblazoning her bodice. The Prince bows to her, then stands before the grand portrait of King James, peering up at an aged version of King Rhett.

King James is draped in a kingly cape, his golden crown heavier than the piece his son wears. Beside his image, the lost White Knight, who is handsome like the young king but different, bravery in his painted eyes. His face is captured with healthy pink cheeks and a true confidence, unlike the broken bravado of his brother. A few paces beyond, the Prince finds a portrait of King Rhett. Here, he is a child, crowned, but no more than thirteen. His straight shoulders and tight-lipped mouth give no indication of grief. His crown looks a little too big for his head, and his head too big for his body.

Prince Link looks at the child king for a long time before moving on. About ten feet from the row of portraits is the largest image yet: the royal family. The queen mother with a toddler prince on her lap, her eldest son standing beside her proudly, and the King, one hand on Prince Cole’s shoulder. Prince Link ponders the creation of this portrait, how the Rosewood family believed they’d all live through a peaceful rule, unknowing that within the decade their King and Prince would fall. Seeing the royals together makes the sole portrait of an adult King Rhett in the throne room all the more lonely.

The many versions of the man he feasted with intrigue the Prince. Indeed, he wonders if he and the King would have made good childhood friends, or if the scars of the betrayal were far too new to ever entertain the thought. The Prince of Charleston was a calm child himself, although a bit mopey in his early years. As his feet carry him away from the portraits, the Prince wonders what it might’ve been like to meet the King in adolescence. Was he as impatient as the stories tell it? Did he really break things when condescended? Or were those merely myths? There are no portraits of the King at that age, perhaps because he could never sit still.

At the end of the West Wing lies the kitchen. This, the Prince is sure, as the smells of eggs and salted meats drift beneath his nose. On his left, the open banquet hall hosts a myriad of guards and handmaidens feasting a late breakfast, but their King is not dining with them. This time, a few faces smile and return the greeting when Prince Link gestures hello, but doesn’t join them. He heads towards the kitchen, eager to see what goodness is cooking.

* * *

Prince Link escorts himself into the kitchen. He hasn’t yet eaten, and the warm smells of freshly cooked breakfast rumble his stomach. Closing the wooden door behind him, he lifts a hand to the various pairs of eyes that look up at him. “Prince Charles of Charleston,” he announces. “Forgive the intrusion. My curious belly seeks the source of these wonderful smells.”

A few cooks nod their greeting then return to work, but the head cook welcomes him with a grin. “Ah! So rare a guest you are! I’m happy to prepare anything you like, your princeliness.”

The hungry prince moves closer. The kitchen is warm and steamy, the large stone countertops adorned with wooden slats for cutting. He eyes foods of many colors: green cabbages and orange carrots, the purple-reds of bloody meats, and brown bread. A large skillet to the right sizzles with butter and eggs, the flame beneath crackling and popping over wood. Those in the banquet hall are feasting, so the Prince thinks the kitchen is now feeding itself.

He bows to the cook. “Yesternight’s feast was delicious. Thank you for welcoming me.” The cook blinks as if a royal has never bowed to him, but Link’s fat-happy belly would bow a thousand times for the feast he shared with the King. Now, that belly grumbles, making itself known to the cook.

The cook chuckles. “What can I make you?”

Prince Link says he’ll take whatever is already prepared, so the cook throws a slab of meat on a skillet and serves it hot with eggs and a boiled potato. The prince stands at the stone and eats graciously, greedily, the cook watching him all the while as if honored to witness such gratitude. Once finished, the cook hands the Prince a chalice of fresh water to chase it down and Link wipes his mouth with a cloth. He brings his own dish to the basin of wash-water and the cooks squiggle their brows at his motions.

“I often visit the kitchen in Charleston castle,” he explains. “I like to eat where the meals are hottest.” Saying this reminds him of the cooks back home, who always sneak him late-night pastries and put extra bacon on his plate for breakfasts with his father.

“We are happy to have you,” the head cook adds, waving to his sous-chefs to stop gawking and get back to work.

“What is your name, O master of meats?”

“Richard,” says he, “but you can call me Rich.”

“Well, Rich. Thank you for having me. Do you mind if I stay a while? I can’t bring myself to leave such deliciousness.”

Cook Rich pulls up a stool at the stone island and resumes chopping carrots as the Prince lets his belly settle. He takes sips of water as the cooks move around him, and when he asks what they’re preparing for midday, Rich says they’re having soup in a few hours. “A slow simmer makes for hearty flavor,” he says.

When the other cooks have had their breakfast, Rich sends them out of the kitchen for a break. Once all flames but that under the soup pot are extinguished, the cooks wipe the sweat from their brows and open the windows, and the kitchen begins to cool. All but Rich exit the kitchen as it airs, soup pot simmering at low heat.

“Rich,” the Prince says after munching a carrot. Given the cook’s age and strong build, he figures Richard must’ve served castle Rosewood for a long time, feasting on the best of his own creations over many years. “What was the King like in his youth?”

“Aha,” Richard answers after a mouthful of boiled potato. “You want the truth behind the stories, don’t you?”

Prince Link nods. “Anything you can tell me.”

“The King was an angry youth, this is true. It took him a few years to understand his own grief.” Rich sets down his fork and lowers his eyes. “Every soul in the castle grieved King James, and Prince Cole, but our King surpassed a child’s pain. He broke when his brother died, of course. He locked himself away in his room, and we all thought he wouldn’t come out ’til winter. However, he emerged the next day, as if he’d come to accept it overnight. It took years for him to break again.”

“He lost his father, too.”

“Yes, but two deaths was more than his heart could bear. When he threw tantrums, he only ever mentioned his brother, as if saying aloud that his father was gone was too much. Admitting that James was no longer king only affirmed that Rhett was crowned in his stead. It weighs on him, even now, as a man.”

“I’ve heard that he’d push people. Send servants away.”

Rich shakes his head. “No, he never did that. If he became angry, he’d sequester and shout to be left alone, but never banished anyone. We’ve all been here, witness to his grief. He’d never hurt a worm, let alone throw fists when angry. In his darkest period, he only ever hurt himself.”

“And the vase? I’ve heard word that he threw his mother’s favorite vase.”

Grimacing, the cook makes a pained noise. “That one is true. It shattered against the wall, but what the stories don’t recount is how he dropped to his knees and cut his fingers trying to pick up the pieces. One of his men had to carry him away from the mess and bandage his hands.”

Something in the Prince sinks into deep hurt when he hears this. A child, so aware of his own burdensome anger that he tried to clean up the mess. The Prince feels relieved that he’d never sent anyone away, but pained at thinking he suffered most nights alone. Alone by his own choosing.

Prince Link is quiet for a moment. “I’m curious about the Queen,” he admits. “I don’t hear much of her grief.”

“Oh, she was very pained. Pained to the point of silence. Unlike her son, she had no outbursts of anger. All of her hurt remained within, but her ladies in waiting have said they’ve heard her weeping at night, to this very day. A heartbroken woman, she is. Poised, but at what cost?”

Again, the Prince lets silence fall. The cook clears his plate and sets it in the wash basin before Link speaks again.

“I pity that child,” he says softly. “But I’m still unsure of the man he’s become.”

“Our King has his moods. He’s uncertain and unprepared for war.” The cook goes to stir the soup with a wooden spoon, steam rising from the mix. “He was anxious before you arrived,” adds Rich in a peculiar tone, but the Prince doesn’t steer the conversation towards himself. He wants to know more about the man he’s just met.

“We dueled, but I’ve yet to see the King in political action. Unbiased truth, my friend. Is the King a fair ruler?”

Soup covered, Rich returns to the stone island. “Indeed. He pays us fair wages, beyond the wages of those in other kingdoms, I’ve heard. He may bark, but never threatens, and when he’s frustrated, he says it. He’s learned from his youth, and as a leader, he only acts on ideas he agrees with. Throughout my time here, I’ve seen many of his men try to corral him, and he needed restraint as an adolescent, but he’s unafraid to say ‘no’ when he disagrees. I have no opinions on his court, kind prince, I am merely a cook. But over time, our beloved King of Rosewood has softened. He’s less quick to attack suggestions he’s unsure of. Which is why I think you’re here now.”

The Prince appreciates the honest words and says this. His head swims with images of the King making orders, listening, feeling afraid and unsure but wanting to be brave for his kingdom.  At this moment, the Prince cannot picture the future war, nor does he want to, so he focuses on learning more about the King.

“Surprisingly kind and generous,” says the Prince. “He’s defensive, I know that firsthand. Not as temperamental and violent as the stories make him out to be.”

The cook glances at the open window, eyeing the sun as it climbs towards noon. “As for his character,” says Rich, “Our King has never abused the affections of his handmaidens, as men in power so often do.”

The Prince blinks, unsure why Rich felt it necessary to say this, but given that a tightness in his belly uncoils at the words, the Prince thinks he might’ve needed to hear it. Just as the sun reaches an hour to noon, the cooks return from their breaks, coming through the kitchen door and returning to their posts. The Prince takes this as a sign to leave, but before he goes, he chances one last question. “Any idea where the King is now?”

A knowing smile apples Rich’s rosy cheeks. “His grace should be in the stables. Why don’t you join him on his Sunday ride?”

Prince Link nods, thanks the cook for his generosity, and exits the kitchen the way he came.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he could, he'd ride with the King to the end of the world.

Prince Link goes down two flights of stairs at the end of the Northern hallway to breach into open air. He can see the fields from his bedroom, but upon pushing open the heavy doors, the plains stretch farther than he thought. Rosewood castle is coved by redwood trees, but between the castle and the woods stretch grand meadows, dirt roads winding between buildings that look to Link like sheds. Another flight of stairs, and the tips of his black boots become dusty as he traverses a road, looking for the stables.

Richard’s words echo in his ears. Before he’d met the King, he didn’t believe that all the volatile stories rang true, but perhaps he’d just wished they wouldn’t be. Prince Link tends to trust in the good of mankind, and he’d always assumed that Rosewood’s King would be a good man at heart, although stubborn and haughty. There is much more to learn about him, Link thinks, but given their few encounters, he’s starting to feel friendly towards the man. The cook’s words have strengthened that feeling.

The stables are to the left of the meadows, nearly tucked beneath the castle. Two large buildings sit together, and beyond, a few cows graze on green grass. The small dirt paths that wind between buildings widen to accommodate horse hooves, leading into a dusty clearing at the front of the buildings. From down here, the castle looms large above, stone columns holding the stairwell, a blooming rose carved at the top of each pillar.

When he looks towards the stables, the Prince’s royal belly flutters nervous. Breakfast has eased his stomach with warmth and the cook’s stories, his assumptions, but there are still unknowns standing between him and the King. Perhaps the quick friendship was misplaced? Perhaps their plans to throw a Rosewood-Charleston ball came too hasty? Anxiety bubbles as the Prince remembers how long their kingdoms have been enemies, and he begins to distrust the thread he’s strung between them. He’s only one man, after all. This is a King on the edge of war.

The Prince shakes his head. No, he was right in coming. His words have cut through, and the alliance will hold. The King won’t change his mind and retract his kindness, even if the dark whispers that prey on the Prince’s nerves hiss that he might. The only way to know for sure that their kingdoms will remain allies henceforth is to face the King himself. Two men, upholding their agreement. The Prince of Charleston urges his boots to carry him into the stable.

He pulls open a side door by the rope knotted at the handle and immediately, the smell of hay and horsehair surround him. The stable is dark, save a few slices of sunlight filtering through the wooden roof. A few horses titter at the stranger in their midst, so the Prince closes the door behind him and raises his hands to steady them. “Shhh,” he pleads. “I’m a friend. Looking for a human, the royal breed. Have you seen him?”

One of the horses shakes her head, stamps her hooves. Not on this side, she seems to say. So, the Prince treads deeper into the stable. His boots crush soft hay beneath their soles and he breathes in the musky equine smell. There are a handful of horses each in a generous corral, and it’s not lost on the Prince how much space the animals have, even when contained. He moves through the dim, his eyes adjusting to the glass-encased lanterns affixed to posts, far from the hay below.

“Your highness?” the Prince calls, and the anxious snake in his belly slithers. Why does it feel like he hasn’t seen the man in ages? It’s been mere hours.

There’s a rustling at the far end of the stable, and a tall head pops over a gorgeous mahogany steed. “Prince Charles? I mean- Link. Is that you, Link?”

The belly-snake coils and burns at the sound of his nickname in the King’s mouth. “It’s me,” he answers. “I don’t mean to disturb you.”

The Prince goes to him, meeting the King at the other side of the steed. This time, the King is without his crown. His hair looks nice.

“No disturbance at all. I’m glad you didn’t run off in the night. How did you sleep?”

The snake uncurls, soothed by the King’s words. Seems he’s still alright with the Prince being here, in his kingdom, his castle, his space. “Well, thank you.” He considers mentioning the handmaiden running his errand, fetching him unders, stockings, and a new tunic, but feels shy about it, as if the King will think him getting too comfortable. At home, he wears the same tunic for days, but the handsome king makes him want to wear the fabrics of Rosewood. He says nothing of this.

Instead, the Prince says, “The cook told me you’d be here. He says to join you on your ride.”

The King steps out from behind the steed, and the Prince’s breath catches. He’s dressed down, curls loose and falling over his forehead, his red tunic plain and tucked into a brown leather belt. His boots are dirty with dust and hay, and his eyes are brighter than the Prince remembers. Perhaps the King slept well, too.

“Richard!” He turns his eyes on the steed and pets down its long face, fingers curving over the snout. “Richard knows me well. Knows that I’d never turn away a fellow rider. Please join me, Link. I’d like that very much.”

Link glows, putting his hand on the horse. For a moment, the two men stay there, admiring the large, magnificent animal. Then, the Prince voices what’s been on his mind. “Are you still in favor of hosting the allyship ball? We decided it after more than a few ales.”

King Rhett smiles. “We prepared the letters last night, don’t you recall? One to announce the alliance, the second to approve the ball. My messenger left at dawn.”

Prince Link remembers, warmth in his chest. The two of them leaning over the same parchment, reviewing the scribe’s words, as their own handwriting had been compromised. He remembers telling the scribe not to mention the ale, hiccuping as he said it. “That’s right. Strange to think we drank so much. I feel fine this morning. What about you?”

“Fit as a flute,” the King says with a grin. “Rosewood has a kind of magic that way. No morning dizzies.”

“I’m certainly glad of it.”

It goes quiet again, but not uncomfortable. Not hauntingly lonely, like the Prince felt when looking at the portrait of the child king. What was missing in the hallways of the castle feels found here, in the stables. The King moves towards the stable wall, reaching for reins and a saddle. Link watches as he affixes the saddle to the mahogany beauty, sets the bridle in his mouth, and drapes the reins over his head. Could be the dim stable light, but the Prince swears he sees a bit of color darken the King’s cheeks as he stares.

King Rhett speaks. “Choose your horse, my good sir. They’re all trained to accept new riders. You have ridden before, correct?”

“I’m a prince, am I not?” Link turns on his heel, walking away from the King to choose his horse. A beautiful white mare makes eyes with him, so he picks her.

“Selene. A good friend of mine, and very gentle. Good choice.”

The Prince stands next to Selene and pets her coat as the King grabs another saddle and reins from the wall. As he prepares her, Link asks the name of his steed.

“Brandy. He’s my oldest friend. Threw me when I was a child but has never thrown me since.”

As the Prince climbs atop Selene, he thinks of the child picking up pieces of the splintered vase and riding the horse that threw him.

The King stays standing as he helps Link settle in his seat, smacking his knee when his feet find the holsters. It sends a rush of heat through him, but the blush simmers as the King crosses back towards Brandy and hoists himself up. The ease with which he climbs the steed, however, makes the blush return. When the King feels set, he trots to the farthest end of the stable, Selene and her rider close behind. He pulls at a rope, and the double doors of the stable open for them, revealing the meadow.

* * *

King Rhett and Prince Link break into the meadows at a steady trot. Neither man speaks as horse hooves step gracefully into soft grass, the Prince following the King’s lead off the road. Link shifts in his saddle, familiar with riding but slightly out of practice. The white mare he rides steadies his nerves as she follows the steed, gentle and confident in her gait. Once the King nears the edge of the wood, he h-yah’s Brandy into a gallop, and Link inspires Selene to follow with a soft whip of her reins.

The King of Rosewood darts into the forest, the heir of Charleston behind him. The shadowed trees cove them as the horses weave and dart on light feet, and soon, the Prince catches up to the King and rides alongside him. The trees become sparse, and the horses begin to run. Wind pushes Link’s hair off his face and the small hills and valleys of the forest floor upturn his belly as Selene soars.

A tightness lifts from Link’s heart, loosening as an easy joy takes root. Rhett is a fine rider, but Link finds himself more enamored with the woods, breathing in the scent of Redwoods and damp earth as they fly. The King takes the lead and calls back at the Prince, something chiding and competitive that makes Link grin. He urges Selene to catch up and returns to the King’s side, eyeing his handsome blush of excitement.

The two men race each other through the woods, and by the time the King comes to a clearing, Prince Link's heart is beating fast, his head dizzy with joy. King Rhett slows to a trot, then parks Brandy in what can only be described as a hidden place. When the Prince joins him, the high of the chase fades and he sees that they’ve come to the farthest edge of the woods, a grassy cliffside overlooking trees that stretch for eons. Far beyond the trees, Link spies the ocean.

Rhett lets Link admire the sight before turning to him, dazed grin on his face. Link meets his eyes, and the man before him is so unlike the sharp and guarded man he met only yesterday. This person is playful, brave, and smiling at him with such genuine fondness that Link thinks him an entirely different King.

Link speaks before he can catch himself. “I feel as though I’m looking at a stranger. Your demeanor is different today, King. As if night and day.”

King Rhett smiles even brighter, cheeks appleing. He rakes a hand through his curls, sending a warm strike through the Prince. “I feel different today. Perhaps I am a changed man.”

Prince Link stares at him, heartbeat in his throat. The King is even more gorgeous like this, pink and beaming. “Tell me more, your highness. I’m curious as to what has softened the man who challenged me to duel.”

“Oh, I’ll still challenge you,” he grins. He sweeps a hand over Brandy’s muscled neck as he turns his eyes on the ocean. “Last night was the first I’ve celebrated in a long while. It felt good to feast and drink with you, as if two princes, celebrating the union of our fathers.”

The Prince nods, birdsong drifting in the silence between words.

“I was determined to stay hesitant about this alliance,” he admits. “Instead, I found myself easing. You convinced me with your words, Prince, but your resolve was refreshing. I’d forgotten the pleasure in accepting someone’s help.”

Watching the King is as easy as watching the waves crash on the beaches of his homeland. The Prince is entranced by his moving mouth, handsome face, and poised posture atop a patient horse. He has to actively look towards the horizon so as to not appear smitten. He speaks just as honestly, noonday sun shining high. “I was afraid I’d spend weeks trying to convince you. It surprises me that you bent so easily. Still, I would have pestered. I know that to unite our kingdoms is right.”

“It is right. I am glad you came to meet with me.” Now, the King turns to look at the Prince. Link can feel his eyes on his face as he says, “You are eloquent, but perhaps I was more tired than I realized. Tired of lamenting the past, seeking to maintain enemies when new grief is near. I’d be a fool to deny a helping hand.”

“Charleston only wants to see Rosewood flourish,” says the Prince, fingers carding through Selene’s white mane. “The Decade War was painful for my father. He felt he’d failed King James, though there was naught he could do to stop the attack.” Link closes his eyes and breathes deep into his lungs, releasing his kingdom’s regret in one long sigh. “That chapter is over now.” Beyond the trees, the ocean sings to him, projecting pride from its blue depths.

Again, the cliffside falls silent. The men watch the redwoods sway in a strong wind that doesn’t reach them, white-capped ocean blurring at the horizon.

“They say each soul lives a thousand lives. I wonder if somehow I was granted two in one lifetime, and if so, if this might be my second life.”

The Prince looks at him, finding his countenance wistful. The King meets his eyes as Link says, “I like that thought.” When the King holds the gaze a little too long to be misunderstood, the man on the white horse adds, “I’d be honored to help you navigate your rebirth.”

Blushing, the King pulls at Brandy’s reins, galloping off along the cliffs.

* * *

The men ride along the cliffs before cutting back through the woods. As they ride, the Prince finds himself stuck on two glorious sights: the coastline and the King, bathed in sunlight. The riders take it slow through the trees, cooling their horses’ hooves on the shadowed grounds. The Prince tells the story of his morning’s wander through the Rosewood castle, withholding his reactions to the portraits. The King asks about his meeting Richard, and the Prince speaks honestly.

“The man boils potatoes to perfection,” says Link as the horses trot through the trees. “He spoke fondly of you, as an uncle would.”

“I spent more time sneaking loaves from Richard’s kitchen than I ever did in the kingdom market. As a boy, I demanded his cooking and nobody else’s.”

The Prince chuckles. He opens his mouth to admit something, but refrains. The King catches his hesitance and commands him to speak.

“I asked what you were like as a child, and he told me. I mentioned my first impressions, and he said you were anxious before I arrived.”

The King nods, shadows passing over his face. “I was. I become anxious when unsure.”

“He did say you have your moods.”

“Hopefully now you can see the pendulum swings both ways. My peers have often said I’m as changeable as the sea.”

Oh, the sea. The Prince is very fond of the sea. Even when it rages. “I am no stranger to ocean currents, my lord.”

Addressing him this way gives Rhett pause, and he drops his gaze and smiles shyly as if he likes it more than he should. “You might think me more honest than royals you’ve encountered before,” says the King. “Speaking with you makes me want to be frank. Apologies if this is strange for you.”

Brandy swerves around a large boulder, Selene mirroring the movement. “Not strange. You are not the first king I’ve broken bread with, but certainly the first to spill ale. Consider me one of your men. I am here to serve you.”

Again, that shyness that seems too sweet for a man of his standing. “Methinks it best to be candid about my good moods, knowing you’ll experience a bad one soon enough.” His eyes sharpen in a passing thought. “That reminds me… Now that you’re here to stay, I believe it’s time we introduce you to my court. I want you by my side when discussing the coming war. I trust you to represent your kingdom with grace and intelligence.”

“Of course. My princely best, I will be.”

Sunlight streams through the woods, the meadow in sight. The royals ride the last few paces out of the woods, crossing the meadow towards the stables. The Prince almost doesn’t want to dismount.  If he could, he’d ride with the King to the end of the world.  Although, his bum is saddle-sore and afternoon hunger has claimed his belly.

As they near the stables, the King requests his official presence at the next court meeting. “Tomorrow. I’ll have you recount your plans to my court, and we’ll begin preparations for the unfortunate future. We cannot deny Faust’s coming attack, as much as I’d like to.”

Selene whinnies. She doesn’t like facing the truth either, it seems. The Prince pets behind her ears and answers, “Absolutely. I’ll be there.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seems his time with the King will test the Prince's patience, and his intrigue.

When a Rosewood guard grants the Prince entrance to the King’s court, Prince Link is wearing the fabrics of the kingdom.

Ten pairs of strange eyes stare back at him, and the guard closes the double doors behind him with a heavy thud. Prince Link straightens out his shoulders, puffing his chest to minimize the anxiety twisting in his belly. The faces that regard him are all seated around a large stone table, but the one pair of eyes the Prince has come to know admire the sight of him as if happy to see him.

Link looks towards the King and finds the man seated, one lean leg crossed over the other and a hand covering his mouth. His proud eyes rove over Link’s figure, down the deep crimson tunic, tracing the golden trim with his gaze. The King flicks his eyes up towards the Prince’s face, then higher, and a shy blush creeps into his cheeks.

Today, the Prince is wearing his crown. It’s the first time adorning it since arriving, and as the King leaps from his chair with the grace of a panther, he comments on it.

“Good Prince of Charleston, how regal you look in the threads of my kingdom. And your crown, dare I say, suits the silver in your eyes.”

A silence falls over the room, the court members glancing between the two. The Prince lifts his chin, dreamily accepting the compliments.

The King comes to stand beside him at the front of the room, slapping a hand to the Prince’s shoulder. He leaves it there as he says, “This is Prince Charles III, the new representative from the good kingdom of Charleston, a long-time Rosewood ally. Prince Charles has elegantly wooed me into once again allying with Charleston, and I command you to respect his ideas as if they fall from the mouth of the King himself. He will be a great asset in navigating the return of Carlisle, so honor him as you would my right-hand man.”

Prince Link nods curtly at the introduction, nary a twitch of eyebrow in the faces before him. Silence settles, so the Prince adds, “I am looking forward to working with you all. I know the brotherhood of our kingdoms has been severed for many years, but I bring nothing but the deepest regrets from my father, and it is the honest truth that we wish nothing more than to see Rosewood bring peace to the Continent. Consider my soldiers as brothers to the men of Rosewood.”

The King releases the Prince’s shoulder, leaving an empty ache. “Together, we have sent a request to Charleston to approve a Rosewood-Charleston allyship ball. We eagerly await the King’s response. Soldiers of both kingdoms can meet at the celebration and break bread as new allies.”

King Rhett smiles at the Prince as if keen to celebrate, then drops the grin and turns back to the court. The Prince watches in wonder as he resumes his role. “The good prince has spoken to me in length about Carlisle’s plans, and I believe he has valuable information on the weaknesses of the Faust army.”

Finally, one of the ten mouths speaks. A pale man, with a friar-like ring of hair on his eggish head. “Congratulations on your successful parley, your princeliness, but you have yet to prove to us your worth. What new information can you share with us that the court is not already privy to?”

Prince Link answers, “You are aware that Faust’s army is weak. Carlisle’s men are not men at all, but boys, sickly and starved in rusted armor. What you don’t know is that Carlisle has hired mercenaries, criminals, and banished murderers whose loyalties lie nowhere but coin. Faust does not have unity; his weakness is disloyalty.”

A few men nod approvingly, as if the news is just that, fresh to their ears. The first mouth speaks again, questioning the information’s source. “Carlisle has recently made an attempt on Charleston, has he not? Did he bring hired soldiers to your borders? Explain this information.”

The King returns to his courtroom throne, settling back to watch the exchange. The Prince clasps his hands behind his back, shoulder tingling as if wanting the King’s large hand placed there forever. “Yes, Charleston was attacked. Charleston soldiers looted Faust’s men and found one satchel of coins. Soldiers do not carry gold on their person, but greedy criminals may. Most of the trespassers were young Faustian boys, but at least one must have been hired help.”

Friar-head seems pleased with the answer, for the moment. The court speaks among itself about the use of mercenaries, and the possibility of hired soldiers in the Decade War. The Prince waits patiently, anxiety loosening under the busy hum of discourse. He must prove himself, of course, but these matters are not beyond him, and he takes pride in the knowledge he can give. He glances at the King of Rosewood, who is watching him.

The bearded king regards him. “You told me you have a plan, Charles,” he booms over the din of voices. The court falls silent as the King speaks. His power emanates from where he sits, lax with one ankle up, fingers stroking his beard. “Tell us of your plan.”

Said plan has already fallen on the King’s ears, but not those of his court, so the Prince repeats himself. “Carlisle expects Rosewood to cut him off in No Man’s Land to redeem for the failed action of the Decade War, but there is only one way to end his revenge. We must let him come for Rosewood and defeat him on the battlefield here.”

A different man speaks, deeper in color with graying sideburns. “You speak as if this ‘revenge’ will be the end of all wars, but you cannot be sure of that.”

“No, I cannot.”

“Then why risk spilling blood on Rosewood soil when an ambush can wipe out Faust once and for all?”

“Carlisle is a man,” the Prince begins, locking eyes with each member of the court, one by one. “He is a man, and he is mad. He is crazed with determination, and I believe if we allow him a taste of victory - crossing into Rosewood unharmed - together, Rosewood and Charleston can end his insanity.” The Prince takes a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “This attack is lingering pain from another era. There is no reasonable expectation that Faust will conquer Rosewood, or attempt to colonize every kingdom on this great Continent. He is out for revenge, for one kill only. He seeks to eliminate the Rosewood line, but he will not succeed.”

In the corner of the room, the King shifts and uncrosses his legs. The Prince keeps his eyes straight ahead as he continues, “There is no other soul in the House of Faust that wants to attack Rosewood, only Carlisle. The war ends with him, and if, by chance, Faust attempts to rise again, two failures in two decades will leave Faust weaker than ever. We must regard this coming war realistically. The Faust army are but ducklings following the mad mother that is King Carlisle. He falls, and so does the era of violence.”

The court stills as they consider the Prince’s words. Some of the members look on approvingly, including the King himself, who hasn’t taken his eyes off the Prince since he began speaking. One of the other men is about to retort, when the Prince speaks his final say.

“Furthermore, I plan to invite the soldiers of Charleston to train with the soldiers of Rosewood, side-by-side, every day, to grow accustomed to each other’s movements. Our kingdoms are siblings who have forgotten one another. I believe the strongest armies are those united, and I hope to inspire brotherhood in the men of our kingdoms, allowing them to trust each other, so that when one man falls, the other will avenge him.”

With this, the King intercepts. He makes a ’tut’ noise with his tongue, shaking his head. “This attack will not claim any Rosewood men.”

“Your highness.”

“You said yourself, Faust is weak with an army unskilled. A trained, united army will escape with nary a scratch.”

“Your highness,” the Prince repeats. “Do not tell me you expect none of our men to fall.”

The air in the courtroom grows tight. Prince Link stares back at King Rhett, squinting at his indignant expression. Surely, he must be jesting.

“It is not an expectation as much as a hope,” the man answers.

Prince Link scoffs. “Then a faulty hope it is, my lord.” He crosses his arms, speaking honestly. “Faust may not have the strongest army in the kingdom, but starving men with nothing to lose are out for blood. There will be casualties from all armies, my men included.”

Hums of agreement titter the court, as if approving the Prince’s rationality in the face of their king, who, the Prince thinks, they may not often cross.

“How much Rosewood blood are you willing to spill?” spits the King.

“Casualties are not a will, sir, they are a truth. Such is the necessary evil of war. My men are not afraid of death, and to allow them to die alone is foolish and dishonest.”

The court has now gone deathly silent, watching the scene. The Prince knows the King is wrong, and that he is right, so he does not back down.

“In my homeland, we honor the dead through ceremony. I have seen many a beloved friend fall in the smallest battles, and yes, while I believe the forces of Rosewood and Charleston united will annihilate the Faustian force, we must be prepared to honor our dead.”

King Rhett bites his tongue. He waits, snarl on his lips like he’s contemplating a response.

In the quiet, a court member pipes up in Link’s favor. “Your majesty, perhaps your expectations are skewed by grief-“

“I am not in grief!” the King shouts. Arm hair prickling, the Prince steps back as the King stands, terrifying in his restrained fury. He withholds his sharpness by speaking through gritted teeth, tension tightening his shoulders. “‘My men…’” he quotes. “You speak as if a veteran of many wars, and leader of the blue army, Charles, but where were you when Faust came for Charleston? Have you ever battled alongside the men you watched fall, or do you have so little faith that you wait in your bedroom for them to die?”

Prince Link has no biting response, so he swallows his hurt. The friend he rode horses with warned him that he’d soon be seeing his bad side, so Link tries to convince himself that it’s the audience of a nervous court that sharpens his edge. “Please, your highness. I am not attacking you; do not attack me. I am here to serve you, and in doing so, I must prepare you for loss. I do not want to lose any more men than you. I am offering the lives of soldiers I have known since boyhood by igniting this alliance. I do not do this easily.” The steady tone of Link’s voice seems to ease the King, and his hunched shoulders drop.

The two royals share a tense moment, the King’s court looking on with uncertainty. In it, the Prince’s anxious belly-snake slithers, hissing as it had when he’d first arrived in Rosewood. The Prince holds the gaze, willing his friend to remember his manners, and the King’s moody pendulum oscillates back to calm. 

King Rhett corrals his temper and apologizes, though not easily. “Forgive me, good Prince.” Turns to his court. “And my men. You are right in preparing me for the truths of war, and I offer my deepest regrets for lashing out. I must remember that a war is more than words, and a battle more than legend.”

Quiet falls, and as tension breaks, the doors of the courtroom open to reveal a messenger. He hands a note to one of the men on the near side of the table, and the King takes the moment to call a recess. Two members of the court begin looking over the message as the King excuses himself to the hallway, calling Link to follow.

* * *

The hallway shade seems to cool the King’s red-hot temper as the Prince stands a few paces away. The King leans back against the stone wall and grimaces at himself. After a few moments, he lolls his head towards the Prince and regards him in a low voice. “Apologies for my outburst, friend.”

Prince Link steps closer. “You did warn me. I know how easily the ocean storms.” He gives a faint smile, though something lingers painful in his chest. He figures it best to speak it now, lest it grow into a monster of hurt. “You scare me sometimes,” the Prince admits. “Not your rage, but how it swallows you. It feels as if I’ve met five different men since coming here, and when I see a sharp side of you, the blade reminds me that we are, in all, strangers to one another.”

King Rhett sighs. “Gods above, your words sting with truth. I do not want you to think I am torn at the seams.”

Prince Link puts his hand on the King’s arm, too determined to refrain. “I do not know what it is to be king. I do not know what it is to lose a king, or a brother. But I did not lie, your highness. I am here to serve you. And that means I must prepare you for the painful truths of the future.”

Rhett covers Link’s hand with his own. “I appreciate you.”

They stare at each other for a moment, then drop their hands. The King clears his throat as a Rosewood guard makes the rounds past them. 

The Prince is curious about this man and the source of his rage. He wants to ease his friend with sweet lies but knows that within politics, he must perform an honest role. Seems his time with the King will test his patience, and his intrigue.

The King looks down at the Prince, an action that will not cease as long as the King stands tall. “You remind me of my brother,” he says.

This surprises Link, curdling his insides with feelings both blessed and cursed. “No, the White Knight was braver than I, for certain.”

They begin to walk back towards the courtroom, small steps to extend their time alone. “He never scolded my tantrums,” he confesses, gesturing for the Prince to enter. “He always said it was strength unbridled, and that fury is a sign of great power within.”

The Prince pushes open the doors. “I believe it.”

* * *

The two return to a sea of forlorn faces. The messenger’s note lay in the middle of the table, eerily white against the cool gray stone. The King eyes it curiously.

“What news?”

None of the ten men look especially thrilled, and the one who speaks has a greenish tint to his skin, as if the news has sickened him. “King Carlisle is a force that must be snuffed in order to bring peace to these lands,” he states.

“And the Charleston Prince speaks the truth when he says Carlisle is a but a man,” says another.

“Well?” King Rhett prompts.

A member on the near side of the table swallows the lump in his throat. “Queen Beatrice is pregnant.”

All twelve men fall silent as a heaviness drapes over them. Carlisle is soon to bear an heir, which means his reign of terror may not truly end with him. The removal of his evil force may save the Continent or spark another era of doom.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every day, the King gives him more reasons to feel fond.

The messenger rides fast between Rosewood and Charleston to deliver news of the reformed alliance. When he returns, Rhett and Link are lounging at the castle fountain. He dismounts, the King looks up from his book, and the Prince looks up from looking at the King.

“My king. Good prince.” The messenger bows. “Word from King Charles about the ball.”

King Rhett swings his impossible legs off the fountain ledge and goes to snatch the letter, the son of Charles at his heels. After a week of impatience, both men are excited to have the confirmation in their hands. The Prince arrived in Rosewood with a job to do, and he’s eager to see if he’s succeeded in his father’s eyes.

The messenger leaves as quick as he came, and the men sit together at the fountain to read the letter. The King offers it to the Prince, given that it’s addressed to him, and leans over his shoulder as their eyes read in tandem. It’s a short note, but it takes few words to inspire a celebration already in motion.

 _My beloved son,_ King Charles begins. _I am beyond proud of you for regaining Rosewood as an ally. I am filled with joy knowing you’ve succeeded in bringing two powerful kingdoms together once again. Your mother and I weep happy tears for this legendary union, though we had complete faith in you, my true heir._

Prince Link can feel King Rhett’s warm breath on his ear, his chest pressed against his back. The King points a finger at the word ‘heir’ and hums approvingly.

_As for this allyship ball - what a splendid idea! You and the King of Rosewood must have had a very fruitful meeting, indeed. Naturally, this union deserves celebration. I give my full permission for you to host an allyship ball at the Rosewood castle, and I’d be honored to attend with your mother. We shall invite the royals of Daughtry and Lancaster, but let us reserve the ballroom floor for the feet of Rosewood and Charleston citizens alone._

_Your desire to unite our kingdoms’ armies is proof of your noble heart, and your idea to host Charleston soldiers in Rosewood to train alongside their brothers in red is most intelligent. We shall tell the soldiers to ready themselves for immediate training, and that they must kiss their women good-bye after the ball. We shall notify our citizens that Rosewood welcomes their siblings with open arms._

_The date you requested has been approved. The people of Charleston will be at the border in an instant. Kisses, your parents._

_P.S. This is your mother. Do you need anything from home? Biscuit misses you. I’m going to bring your favorite treats when we visit. Love you._

“Awww!” the King teases, nudging the prince with his shoulder. “No wonder you’re so friendly. Your parents are made of sugar!”

The Prince reads the note again then presses it close to his heart. It’s nearly been two weeks since he left for Rosewood, but the days feel long and strange without his parents, not to mention his little black dog nipping at his ankles. When he looks up, the King of Rosewood is staring at him, eyes bright with excitement like a child’s.

“So, I suppose the next step is to send out the invitations?”

“Yes,” says the Prince dreamily. “Suppose it is.”

* * *

Preparations for the ball come fast. In the following days, the threat of impending war is forgotten in favor of red and blue ribbons, the kingdom bard, and his band. The long-awaited party calls the King and his man to court, restating that this celebration will christen a new era of brotherhood. The King’s court elect scribes to make invitations for the townspeople of Rosewood, while the King of Charleston invites his citizens, as well as the royals of Daughtry and Lancaster.

As the King and the Prince stroll from one meeting to another, making arrangements for music, decorations, and catering, their spirits alight with the hustle and bustle of a castle that once lay cold and lonely. Handmaidens rush past them with their arms full of colored silk draperies, and cooks tweak their best recipes. King Rhett celebrates the pre-celebration by sharing with Link the history of Rosewood balls past, as well as a few of Richard’s meat pies. The plans take shape, and the two are drawn closer with excitement, swapping tales of their first royal parties between commitments, castle staff rushing to them for approval on design.

When the Prince first arrived in Rosewood, he told the King to prepare for war in the coming weeks. Of course, under the threat of Faust’s revenge, catching any moment to celebrate must come swiftly. As the days are swallowed by frenzied party preparations, the Prince enforces his plan to unite the blue and red armies. He arranges court meetings with the leaders of the Rosewood army, detailing to them his plan to train the allied men side-by-side. He takes the lead on planning the days immediately following the ball, and orders a notice to be posted in the Rosewood square about housing Charleston soldiers during training.

What the Prince doesn’t see when he calls these meetings is the King, watching him with blossoming pride as he proves himself worthy and then some.

Prince Link feels as though the alliance between his kingdom and Rosewood has strengthened overnight, and it is not lost on him how this brotherhood mirrors his relationship with the King. Perhaps this confidence that they will unite and conquer Faust once and for all has much to do with how fond he’s becoming of the Rosewood King. While his tempers may flare, the King proves a steady head in the newness of the alliance, and the Prince feels honored to prepare for the ball alongside him. Together, they make arrangements beyond the ballroom; they arrange the entanglement of their kingdoms, effectively sealing their fates as they unite their people.

It’s a little under a fortnight between King Charles’ approval and the day of celebration itself. Invitees from the farthest kingdoms set out for travel as the Rosewood staff continues to clean, throwing open every castle window, shaking dust from every rug, and sweeping spiders from every corner in preparation for guests. A cleansing breeze moves through the mighty castle, lifting dust up and away on the wind, along with the last remaining ashes of its King’s broken heart.

Despite the electricity in the air, the King remains focused on what threatens his kingdom. King Rhett maintains his all-seeing eyes for signs of Faust, but on his court’s request, is let loose to spend a day with the Prince, who seems to calm him like no other. Be it anxiety or joyous excitement, the King’s frazzled nerves simmer around the beloved Prince of Charleston, which has been well-noted since the day of the Prince’s arrival.

Today, the King is relieved of his duties and sent to collect the Prince for a day of rest.

* * *

King Rhett stands outside the kitchen waiting for the Prince to join him. His friend appears with two carrots, and they munch the roots in tandem as they stroll through the hallways. Handmaidens titter excitedly and gab about the Charleston folks they haven’t seen in years as they make their way towards the ballroom, and with every passing comment, the two men beam with joy. The day of the ball is fast approaching, and the night of celebration will take place in about six days.

“It’s going to be wonderful,” the Prince says when he catches the King’s eyes drifting downwards. “The people have every right to be excited.”

“Incredible how life can change so fast, and for the better, no less. I’m looking forward to a new era, but something in me feels blue that I denied my people of this joy.”

The Prince considers what to say. “People find joy however they can. You did what you thought was right, keeping Charleston away, but please, do not rob yourself of this happy moment. My kingdom could have sent a representative sooner, but it’s no matter. I’m glad I’m here now, and that our kingdoms are allies once again.”

King Rhett gives the Prince a soft smile and says nothing else. The men continue down the hallway all the way to the grand staircase at the front of the castle. Noises thump from the chambers below as furniture is moved into the ballroom and ladders are propped against walls. King Rhett and the Prince haven’t yet peeked inside the ballroom, or the foyer where the guests will enter, but the interior of the castle has completely transformed. Ribbons of red and blue twine the stone columns, and where once there were only framed images of roses, now the walls sparkle with sea shells and iridescent ocean blues. It’s as if the entire castle has been dressed for the party. The Prince doesn’t say it, but seeing the themes of his kingdom, and by extension, himself, welcome within the castle makes him feel warm.

Once they get to the greens of their carrots, the King shows the Prince how to feed the castle rabbits by opening a window and tossing them into the grass. After a moment, two brown hares hop out from the shady brush and nibble the greens.

“Your highness,” states the guard who approaches them. The King closes the window and gives the Prince a wink.

“Yes?”

“Invitations went out a few days ago and word of the ball is spreading as planned. The people are thrilled. Would you like to make a statement?”

The handsome king considers it, stroking his beard. He looks at the Prince, who jumps at being caught staring. “Actually,” says Rhett, “I believe my friend and I will go into town. It’s our day off from meetings, you see, and I think I’d like to feel the people’s excitement myself after so many years of mourning. What say you, Prince?”

Link beams, warmth blooming at the idea of more time alone with the King. “I say yes, my liege. Let us visit the people.”

Rhett nods definitively and orders a few guards to follow them for safety, then sends the man away. He then tells the Prince to go dress in plainclothes and to bring a satchel in case they go shopping. “It’s a happy day,” the King calls as the Prince heads back to his room. “A very happy day, indeed.”

* * *

When King Rhett and his prince are not in meetings, they spend their days riding together, lounging about the castle, or doing nothing of particular importance at all. However, the two have not yet been into town since the Prince arrived, so the day out feels new and unusual.

The King meets Link at the top of the stairs, dressed down in a plain tunic of muted colors that won’t draw attention, though it does little to deny his handsome features. The Prince is equally drab, dressed in soft tones of blue and gray, feeling proud of his homeland and what he’s done for it. Neither man wears his crown. 

The Prince beams him an honest smile. Though the royals are often together when making arrangements, it feels as though the preparations have recently swept them far from each other, and the Prince is more than ready for an outing alone with the King.

“Consider me your official guide to the kingdom town,” says the King as they walk down the castle stairs.

Feeling playful, the Prince asks before he can stop himself, “As the King, can you take apples from carts without paying?”

King Rhett breaks into a youthful grin, cocking his head playfully. “You’ll have to find out.”

Two guards follow them down the stairs as another leads them out the front. The Prince recalls how determined he was when he first passed through these doors, and how much lighter he feels now at succeeding. He rides the high as far as it’ll take him, all the way to the Northern mountains, if necessary.

Outside, the endless blue sky sings for them, the mountains as tall and proud as their king. Few clouds pepper the heavens, and the sun warms the stone beneath their feet as the staircase carries them beyond the castle doors. Prince Link looks around and wonders if the view has always been this gorgeous. On his right, the tall king walks beside him, confident and handsome. Perhaps it’s merely his eyes that’ve changed, the Prince thinks, to find Rosewood more beautiful.

The guards follow them down the grand staircase, no longer suspicious of the blue-eyed Prince, but sworn to protect him as dutifully as they would the King. The buildings that line the street now feel more familiar than when Prince Link first arrived, welcoming him into the town with the King by his side.

The two pass through the castle gates where the wide cobblestone road leads into the town square. The Prince’s carriage is no longer parked at the castle gates, though his men are still somewhere in Rosewood castle, flirting with handmaidens and making friends with the castle guards. Prince Link refrains from asking where his carriage is now, if only to stay a little longer.

Instead of taking the main road, the men steal down a side street and dip into the shadows, avoiding open spaces so as not to get recognized. Only the most observant townsfolk would recognize the dark-haired prince from his carriage ride, but even the rats in the sewers would recognize their bearded king. 

Their three guards hang back, dispersed to look like any other kingdom guards on patrol, but the Prince can feel their eyes watching their every move. For some reason, he feels just as safe alone with the King as he does surrounded by his own men. 

Together, they sneak through the shadows like children playing bandits, hiding from their mothers.

They find a hidden place just beyond the busiest part of the square, and the Prince watches with greedy eyes as people pass. These people are now the counterparts to the people of his homeland, so the Prince exercises his right to study their mannerisms, watching as they move about the square with haste.

“There!” the King yips, pointing towards a gathering just outside a row of carts. “Can you hear it? They’re talking about the ball.”

Prince Link presses close to the King from where they hide, listening for telltale words of excitement. It’s not quite bedlam, but the people are ravenous for something to celebrate, and when he peers closer he can see women buying handfuls of flowers. Straining his ears, he can hear them matching the petals to their dresses.

Suddenly, a group of women passes by the alley they’re crouched in, talking loudly about the ball. They stall at the market nearest, buying sweet-smelling oils as they detail the plans for the night. The King wiggles his eyebrows teasingly, and the two lean in to listen.

“I never thought I’d see the day!” the wide-hipped one says, rubbing oil into her wrist with her pinky. “Never thought the kingdom gates would open for those glassblowers.”

“Oh, don’t say it like that! My husband visited years ago and brought me back a beautiful glass swan. It sits on our mantle to this day.”

The King elbows the Prince in the ribs. ‘Glassblowers?’ he mouths.

“It’s surprising, after so long, but I’m not complaining. I’ve been dreaming of a kingdom ball for years!” says the third.

One of the women chooses a small blue vial and hands over a couple coins. She puts it in her pouch. “Do you think this has anything to do with that carriage that came through? I’d never seen it before.”

“You didn’t hear? That was the Prince of Charleston! He’s the reason they’re throwing a ball! Apparently, he charmed his way into uniting the kingdoms, and now we’ll be having dried fish and pearls again!”

Prince Link nudges back. ‘Charmed,’ he teases.

“I haven’t worn my ball gown in ages,” one of them says, and they dissolve into a fashion-themed tittering as they move on from the cart.

The royals burst into snickers, unsure if they’re laughing over what was said or the absurdity of listening in at all. All the same, they quickly steal down another alleyway. This time, they creep around the back of a building near the shoemaker’s, and the Prince tries to ignore the big warm hand pressed into his lower back as they lean forward to eavesdrop.

“Just my luck,” a mother exclaims, small child clinging to her skirt. “Finally, a reason to go out, and your sister wore out my dancing shoes. That silly girl…” She reaches into her basket and pulls out a pair of baby blue silken shoes, noticeably damaged with scuff marks and torn straps.

Prince Link watches as people move past her, each with their own pair of shoes. The cobbler will have his fair share of business, it seems.

The mother grumbles about the price of repair, and Link’s about to move on when the King stalls, reaching for something at his belt. King Rhett takes a few coins from a small leather pouch and reaches one long arm out from the shadows. The child raises her face from her mother’s skirt and spots him, and the Prince waits with bated breath as the King puts a finger to lips, signals, ‘Shhh,’ and drops a few gold coins into her mother’s basket. He points to the shoes, then retreats into shadow.

Doing her part, the child tugs for her mother’s attention and the woman quickly notices the money. “What in blazes…?”

“Fairy,” says the child. “A shoe fairy.”

Coins in hand, the mother glances around, but finding no fairy of any kind, shrugs and makes her way into the cobbler’s with a skip in her step.

Rhett leans back against the building and Link joins him, staring at him with wide eyes as if surprised by his own fondness. Every day, the King gives him more reasons to feel fond, and it’s safe to say the Prince likes him, but something like this, well, it’s just- just-

“Wonderful.”

The King lolls his head, smiling softly like he’s right where he wants to be.

“You’re wonderful,” the Prince repeats.

King Rhett laughs, shoves him in the chest, and takes off down the alleyway, the Prince trailing behind, stars in his eyes.

* * *

They sneak around some more, and once there’s a clearing in the crowd, the Prince purchases a silver rose brooch for the ball. He admires the other metal trinkets on display for a moment before spotting a familiar hand waving to him from behind a wall. He returns to the King and shows off his purchase, then strolls at his side as they make their way across the square.

Here, the carts are stocked with adornments such as ribbons, jewelry, and corked bottles of gemstones and fool’s gold, but the Prince finds himself more enchanted with the way the King’s arm brushes against his as they stroll, bypassing the sights in favor of looking up at the King. He’s about to say something honest when the King abruptly steps out into sunlight.

He looks the seller right in the eye and asks, “Can I have this?”

The man blanks, staring back in awe. He nods slowly, stunned.

“Thanks,” says the King, and steals back into the shadows in an instant. He presents the Prince with a large white feather, surely plucked from a rare and magnificent bird. He holds it out to Link’s chest, but just as the Prince reaches for it, changes his mind and sticks it behind Link’s ear instead. Link flushes, and so does the King.

* * *

The two move on down the side street. The afternoon darkens, and Link begins to feel lost in the best way, enamored with this hidden world, just him and the King. They may have been able to get through the crowds if the King wasn’t so damn tall, nor the damn King himself, but the Prince doesn’t mind being alone together.

Bits of conversation float down the side streets, plans for the night of the ball, curiosities about why the alliance has been renewed now, after so many years. The women of the kingdom seem especially excited about the ball, but the two men have a good laugh after eavesdropping on a group of adolescent boys speaking candidly about which girl they’d most like to dance with. One of them even mimes a waltz in the street, spinning gracefully with his arms poised in position. At this, the King can’t help himself. Mischievous, he crosses their path, purposefully making the tyke bump into him before teasing, “Nice moves.”

The look on the kid’s face sends the two laughing all the way to the edge of town.

The three guards follow them in circles, no doubt tiring of all the shenanigans. If he could have his way, the Prince would send them back to the castle, and he’d have the King all to himself, indiscreet, strolling through town with nothing to conceal. Alas, he appreciates the safety, especially when someone shady skitters away at the sight of a Rosewood guard.

When the King finally comes to a stop at the edge of a raised rose garden, he props himself on the stone with one thigh up, and the Prince joins him, idly stroking the feather in his hair. He drifts into some peaceful, happy place, lips curling in a smile as if remembering a beautiful moment that hasn’t yet happened.

Fetching, the Prince thinks. The King is incredibly _fetching._ He’s friendly and boyish, spooking his citizens like this, but generous, too, and if Link was a citizen of Rosewood, he’d be more than happy to have the man as his King. A quiet tinkering at the back of his head says the King is already his, somehow.

King Rhett starts stroking a leaf with his finger, and the Prince is brought out of his thoughts, voicing something else that’s been on his mind in protection of not speaking what he feels. “You know,” he starts, “I always thought you a bit more sheltered, given what I’d heard. Thought you’d sequestered in the castle after the war. But the people recognize you as easily as they would their neighbor.”

“I am their neighbor.”

“Do you make appearances often?”

The King’s slender fingers find their way to a rose half-bloomed, and in the distance, the Prince spots a young girl staring at him, lovestruck. “I give edicts.”

“I thought you would’ve had your face printed on coins.”

“No,” he chuckles. “They know me because I gave statements after the war. And they were there for me when my father, er, left me his crown. For a while, the castle doors were open and the people would bring offerings. There were long periods of time where there were even altars in the town square for him, and Cole, too. My mother always wanted the people to comfort me, however they could. Over time, she made me visit the town to remember what I was doing this for.”

The Prince is quiet, his eyes focused on the way the King grabs the rose stem by the thorns, pressing the pads of his fingertips gently into the spikes.

“It’s easy to forget I’m one of them,” he says. “Being all alone up there, it’s isolating. So I try to come down as often as I can, for plays, baby showers, stuff like that. I’ve fallen off with it recently, but once they see me, they know me. Can’t forget someone this tall, right?”

“You’re unforgettable for more reasons than that, King.”

The King keeps his eyes down, pinching the stem between his fingers, then hisses in pain.

Across the way, smoke rises from the chimney of a squat building, and the scent drifts over to the men in the garden, causing the Prince’s hungry belly to grumble. He waits for a moment, fingertips stroking the grooves in the cobblestone wall, then says, “Come on, I’m hungry. Let’s find something to eat.”

Rhett looks up, a bittersweet smile on his lips. Two more girls have joined their friend, and they gawk at him from across the street.

* * *

After their outing, the King and Prince are stuffed full with warm meat and a half-pint of ale each. The King was recognized a few more times as the evening darkened, but never was approached, which made Link feel strange in a good way to be the one at his side. They walked back up the main road once the square had cleared out, and it must’ve been that dusk was falling, as evening is always dreamy, but the Prince found that silent walk through the square the most romantic stroll of his life.

Now, the King walks up the staircase within the castle with the three guards dispersing behind them. He waves them off with a thank you, goodbye, and follows the Prince onto the upper floor. At the top of the stairs, the Prince stalls and prepares for the King to leave him for the night, but he doesn’t.

The King walks him all the way to the guest room. Completely alone now, the Prince suddenly feels nervous with the King, although he can’t place it. The halls are dark and the staff has stopped their preparations for the day. They’re both a bit tipsy and the castle is warm, the Prince’s face even warmer as the King stops outside his door.

“T’was a nice day out, if I do say so.”

“T’was?” the Prince mocks, if only to see the King’s cheeks apple and turn pink.

“ _It was,_ ” he emphasizes, “nice to walk around today.”

“Mmm, indeed.”

The King looks at him, angled features softened by the dim light of the hallway. He opens his mouth, closes it, then tries again. “I hope that brooch works out for you, and if not, I’ll have the blacksmith make you something special.”

The Prince giggles, then flushes deeply when he realizes it may not wholly be a joke. The King makes that same strange face again, and the Prince squirms under the attention. “Goodnight, your majesty.”

King Rhett lingers as if waiting for something, then flicks at the feather behind the Prince’s ear. “Goodnight, Prince.”

Prince Link opens the door to the guest room but doesn’t step inside, watching helplessly as the King walks away.


End file.
